


Worth It

by Salmon_I



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical Figure as a Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7928218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_I/pseuds/Salmon_I
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wrong Way, Corrigan."<br/>Alfred visits Arthur in 1938.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth It

_1938_

 

"You're frowning."

The sentence was not only completely irrelevant, it was completely ridiculous. You couldn't see someone frowning over the ruddy blower. "I'm not frowning."

"Yes, you are."

"America, do you have any idea how expensive this call is? After your recent financial troubles, this hardly seems to be the time to waste your money on trivial matters when there's more important things to discuss-"

"You're still frowning."

"Things are tense here right now. If you'd get your head out of your arse and take a look around-" England began, but was quickly cut off.

"I'm sorry, but it doesn't effect us over here. And isn't your boss working on a deal with Germany to resolve problems peacefully? Don't go starting fights-"

"I don't start fights-"

"You start fights all the time, England-"

"If that's not the pot calling the kettle black-"

"Now who's wasting money by going off subject?"

England took a deep breath, silently conceding at to the point. "Very well, I'll refrain from pointing out what you should know already if you-"

"You're definitely frowning." America cut him off again.

"Fine, I'm frowning. What are you going to do, hop over the pond to cheer me up? As if you could."

"Well, I do know a few pilots-" He seemed to be seriously considering the notion.

"Don't be ridiculous! That's even more expensive than this call is going to be."

"Okay, okay. Keep your pants on."

"Shirt."

"You don't have pants on?"

"I'm hanging up the blower now."

"It was a legitimate question! I mean, why would you say-"

"Because the phrase is keep your shirt on, not pants. Get it right, you git. Of course I have pants on!"

"Okay, okay, I mean, it's not like I wanted to know." It was, America decided, much easier to fib over a phone line. "Stop frowning already."

England barely resisted throwing the machine down in frustration. He wondered if the phone would cost as much as the call was going to.

* * *

 

If asked, he'd say later he seriously contemplated the matter, going over all the pros and cons. Weighing each one with careful consideration.

One ring. Two.

"Hey, Ireland, I need a favor..."

Scratch that. If asked, he'd later deny the phone conversation ever happened.

* * *

 

"Hey, Doug, how's she's running?" America tugged his pilot's helmet down.

"Purring like a kitten. Sunshine's fit as a fiddle, no matter what those idiot California officials say."

"We're heading back to California, though - remember?" America told him, eyes dancing.

"Of course we are." Douglas Corrigan shot his nation a grin, pulling on down his flight goggles. "Straight west. Fig bar?"

"Trade you for chocolate."

* * *

 

England was standing next to Ireland when they landed at Baldonnel Aerodrome. America shot him a grin as he and Doug disembarked from the cramped space of the plane.

"Are you out of your mind?" Was his greeting.

"We happen to be in my lands at the moment, so I should be asking the questions." Ireland pointed out, ignoring the glare England shot him. He crossed his arms, took one look at the rickety plane and broke into a grin. "You actually flew in that? You're braver or stupider than I thought."

"She's a beauty, I don't know what you're on about." Douglas protested the maligning of his baby. "Besides, it wasn't our intention to come here. In-flight error. The compass malfunctioned. Didn't realize it til about two hours ago."

"So...you missed the fact the sun was setting behind you? And what exactly did you think the Atlantic was?" England challenged.

"The Great Lakes?" America offered a forced grin.

"Crazy, the both of them." Ireland rolled his eyes. "Well, I'll leave this one to the officials. My job's done." He started off.

"Right, so glad you were here to take care of everything." England huffed.

"So, we're not getting locked up then, right?" Douglas eyed the country warily.

"For mistakenly flying the wrong way for 26 hours?" The island nation droned. "I'll have you know the aviation officials wrote a 600 word telegram to list all the regulations you broke. I don't think you'll be flying home."

"Can't anyway, not until we make a few...minor fixes."

"You might want to start with that gas tank." America offered.

"Or the hole you punched in the floor." Douglas returned with a mock glare. "I'll go make the official statement. You just hang here for a bit." With a wink he headed over to a cluster of officials and reporters waiting further up the field.

"Gas tank? Hole?" England stared.

"OH, yah...the tank leaked, so we punched the whole because it was filling up the cockpit-" America cut off when he noticed the alarm in the other's eyes. "But it was nothing a hero couldn't handle! Ha ha! Seriously, it was an awesome trip."

England groaned, burying his face in his hands and muttering one of the innumerable insults he seemed to reserve for him. America took it as a sign of affection. After all, if England really hated him that much he'd probably just resort to physical violence rather than muttered insults.

"You are happy to see me, though, right? Right?"

England huffed, glancing up at him with a frown that didn't hold when he glanced between the plane and the nation in front of him. It was small, and too cramped for one person. The flight must have been agonizing for both pilots. And it was also such a rickety, hap-dashed plane. Had they really managed a 28-hour transatlantic flight in it? He considered the other's question - eyes on the plane and a blush starting to burn across his cheeks. "Git, did I say otherwise?" When he finally dared a glance over, he could feel the edges of his mouth tugging upward into a small smile.

It was only the tiniest of smiles, but it was a start. And America fought back a grin of his own, because 28 hours of cramped flying with only fig and chocolate bars for nourishment were absolutely worth even that small smile.

  
_Fini_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another of my old USUK summer camp one shot fics. This is probably my favorite of the group.
> 
> Long and boring explanations:
> 
> Wrong Way, Corrigan: Is an American colloquialism. Usually in reference to someone heading the complete opposite of where they're supposed to. The history behind it involves Douglas Corrigan, who wanted to make a transatlantic flight in his plane. But was told by California officials it wasn't fit for the flight. He was supposed to be flying from New York back to California. Took off heading east instead of west and landed at Baldonnel Aerodrome 28 hours later. The gas tank did in fact leak, and he did punch a hole in the bottom of the plane to prevent it from spreading to dangerous components. Corrigan never admitted he made the flight on purpose, insisting that his compass malfunctioned and that he had no idea he was flying the wrong way. The only punishment he suffered was the 14 day suspension of his pilot's license. He spent most of that on the way back to America via ship. XD
> 
> Keep your pants on: I tried to research when and where this came from. Apparently, the original phrase was "Keep Your Shirt On." Because shirt's were expensive, men would take them off to fight so they wouldn't ruin them in anyway. Why and when it morphed into "Keep your pants on" is unknown. XD
> 
> Telephone calls: Telephone calls were very expensive! Especially out of country! One place I visited said a three minute call cost the equivalent of $300 in modern day! O.O
> 
> Telegram: The aviation department did in fact write a 600 word telegram to list all the regulations Corrigan broke. Telegrams were charged per word and usually made as brief as possible. So, yah, 600 words for a Telegram? Ouch...


End file.
